by T. W. Brown
The last person to enter the tent was Carol. She assessed the situation and then stepped past Thomas and Katrina to take a spot next to Carlos.
“Mr. Ortega, I think there has been a misunderstanding,” Carol said as she eyed everybody in the tent. She quickly explained pretty much everything that had happened in La Grande as well as her reasons for leaving. I would have probably taken twice as long and been half as clear. When it was over, the middle-aged Hispanic man smiled and hugged the woman.
“Mr. Ortega has been my neighbor for pretty much his entire life. I still remember the day his mom and dad brought him home from the hospital. Even paddled his hiney a few times back when you could do that sort of thing without going to jail,” Carol said with a fondness in her voice.
“And I deserved each one of ‘em,” the man said with an easy smile and slight shrug of his shoulders. “I had a knack for getting in trouble when I was younger.”
“No,” Carol corrected, “you had a knack for getting caught and hanging out with children who let you take the rap for their mischief.”
“Okay, as nice as all this is,” Andy interrupted, “it still does nothing to settle things. Where are Grady and the others?”
“They headed on up the hill with that grouchy old doctor lady,” James offered. I heard a few snickers and caught Paula Yin covering her mouth.
Huh, I thought, she is human.
“So Grady is on board with this?” Andy asked.
“One hundred percent,” Chet Bozer said in a gravelly voice that fit him perfectly.
“Good enough for me,” Andy said with a shrug. He turned to me with almost no emotion on his face. “Nothing personal, but it has been my duty since this nightmare began to take care of that man and his little gaggle of geeks.”
“No problem,” I answered.
“Now…” Andy clapped his hands, “about the fella that is paired with Jerome…”
***
The big black man was still wiping the sleep from his eyes as Andy was simultaneously wiping off the blade of his knife. The best thing, as far as I was concerned, was that at least the guy had probably never even been alert long enough to register that he’d been killed.
“So now will you explain?” I asked.
When Andy had said that the other man, Cyril Zimmerman needed to be killed, everybody else in the tent seemed to accept that as gospel and just followed the big man out and over to the neighboring tent. I think I had simply been too stunned to really react at all. I’d followed like everybody else and stood in the background as Andy strode up with purpose and plunged his gigantic knife into the sleeping man’s eye socket.
“Don’t need to,” Andy said. And then he reached inside the dead man’s vest and pulled out a little notebook. “The piece of crap has been making notes and even thought that he was clever enough to hide a few of the choice items from the carts. Jerome is one hell of an actor.”
“I guess the man figured that I was just some lazy brother…always dozing on my watch.” Jerome smiled big and flashed his dazzling white teeth. “Punk ass never even knew that we were drugging his dinner. That man would have slept through damn near anything. As it was, he never knew a thing about all the shit breaking loose down in the valley. We had him dosed at the time. Me, Carlos, and Andy sat out at the table and listened to a hailstorm of explosions and then all the shooting. We figured we might be starting our own compound up here by the sounds of it.”
“Speaking of compounds,” I piped up, “I think it is time we start for ours. We got at least two days of hiking before we reach it if everything goes well. And I don’t think we will be able to take all the carts in one trip.”
“Take the one with the green tarp,” Andy said. “That has the best of the weapons and all of the Claymore gear.”
It took us another hour to get six of us harnessed in to act as the human mule train. Everybody would take turns, and those not pulling were more than ready to help with pushing when things got difficult. There were a few slopes and grades to climb that almost caused us to completely abandon the big cart.
It was midday on the second day when a single gunshot sounded. The noise echoed from seemingly every direction due to this particular stretch of mountain road being little more than a tunnel without a roof. Jerome had been walking just to the left rear of the cart at the time and let out a yelp, clutching his leg and collapsing to the ground.
The folks who had rigged these harnesses had obviously thought ahead. I and the others pulling the cart at the time hit the quick-release button on the harness. We all scattered; some going left, others right, and a few pressing themselves against the side of the cart.
One of those who had sought refuge against the cart was Thomas. A second report of a rifle sounded, and the man took two steps away from the cart and then collapsed in the middle of the two-lane highway, a large pool of blood already spreading out from his still form. His death, while anti-climactic, had at least been swift.
“Where the hell are they?” somebody, I think it was BP, hissed.
I had sprinted for the edge of the road and dove into a ditch that was thick with brush and tall weeds. From there, I was able to see Thomas’ still form, Jerome under the big cart clutching at his leg, and Carol who had crawled under there with him.
A head peeked up over the lane divider and I saw Carlos with a pair of binoculars to his face. He was looking back down the hill the way we’d come, but I wasn’t completely sure that the shots had come from that direction. We were in a bit of a canyon with sheer rock walls going up on either side for about thirty or so feet until it gave way to the first pine trees.
I looked back up the hill towards the direction that we were headed and thought that I saw the glint of sun on metal. It could have been anything, but I kept my eyes on that area. Sure enough, a moment later I saw a crouched figure scurry from my side of the road to the divider and then over.
I was about to call out to Carlos when the report of a nearby rifle caused me to start and scoot away. My head craned to my right to see Rachel Mint up on one knee, a fairly impressive hunting rifle jammed against her shoulder, her eye pressed to the scope.
“Scratch one,” she murmured, and then looked down at me with a wink and a smile. And just that quick, she vanished back into the weeds.
I caught a glimpse of Katrina as she moved up and behind a huge boulder. She gave me a wave to let me know that she saw me, and then disappeared from view. The next several minutes were energy sapping and frustrating as I continued to search the road ahead. I was now certain that was where the attack had come from.
The minutes ticked away, and I heard little more than the wind. Every so often, Jerome would let loose with an expletive or two, and Carol would hush him; other than that, it was as if I were alone.
“Everybody can come out now!” I heard Andy bellow.
Rising slowly, I saw Andy, Rachel, Paula and Chet coming down the road. I glanced over at Katrina and shrugged. BP emerged from about ten feet away, Carlos stood from where he’d taken position on the other side of the lane divider, and James popped up from out of the back of the cart.
“Five punks…nothing to be worried about,” Andy answered my questioning look. “Hell, Paula dropped three of them before I even got up and into position.”
“Nobody left a damn thing for me,” Chet grumbled. “Bunch a greedy bastards.”
We all made our way to the cart and gathered around. Carol had already taken care of dressing the wound on Jerome’s leg and the man had a light sheen of perspiration on his face.
“The bullet is still in there,” Carol announced.
“Can’t you get it out?” Katrina asked.
“That is Hollywood stuff, dearie,” the older woman groaned as she rose to her feet. “I will leave it to Dr. Zahn. If I nicked an artery or something, the poor man would bleed out. I think it best that we let a professional handle it.”
“Then let’s load the big bullet catcher onto the cart and get movi
ng,” Andy said, giving Jerome a wink and an over-exaggerated roll of the eyes for which he received the one-finger salute in return.
Twenty minutes later, we were once again underway. Late that afternoon, I began to recognize some of the surroundings. We actually almost went right past the turn off that would lead us to the old cabin.
Turning down the familiar path, I felt a surge of excitement. As we wound along the narrow and almost overgrown access road that was now little more than a trail, I began to feel all of the tension and whatever else it was that had built up in me the past few months just start to drift away on the cool mountain breeze. As we passed the old watch stand that was still in place just off to the left and then broke through the canopy of pines, I could not keep the grin off my face.
The two dirt berms still lined the entry road and led to the wide moat with the drawbridge. Up on the hill sat the huge forestry welcome center that had been home back in what seemed a dozen lifetimes ago. The ground was still littered with decaying bodies from the last big battle we’d fought here, somebody or perhaps the weather had knocked down our rooftop observation tower, but it was nothing that could not be fixed with a little hard work.
A handful of figures stepped out onto the huge wraparound porch. I smiled as Thalia stepped forward and waved her arms enthusiastically.
“Welcome home, everybody!” I called over my shoulder.
18
Vignettes LIV
Onward the small herd walked. Over the days and weeks, their numbers had grown to over a hundred. It was the largest concentration of zombie children anywhere for thousands of miles, but they knew nothing of such things.
One zombie walked just a little in front of the group. Long ago, the others had simply fallen in behind the diminutive figure. They had no destination in mind; one place was pretty much as good as the other to any of the members of this group.
On occasion, some of the large ones would fall in with the group, but when night fell and this group halted, the large ones would inevitably be drawn away by even the slightest noise. But these zombies no longer followed after every sound. They cared nothing for such things.
Sometimes, living eyes would spy this group. For many, it would haunt their nightmares for days, weeks, or even months. It was horrific enough to see such a sight as a herd of a hundred or more zombie children; however, it was not that alone that caused the blood to run cold and the eyes to blink as if they were being fooled.
Weaving in and out among the tiny forest of little legs were several hundred cats. Even more terrifying were the over thirty zombified versions of a wide assortment of dogs—including three wolves—that had fallen in with this group.
Emily-zombie continued to walk. Sometimes she would forget where she was headed, but it would eventually return to her and she would change course. An observer who tracked this group (had one actually done so out of morbid curiosity) would have eventually noticed that this herd moved on an inward spiral.
That continued until one morning as the sun broke free from the haze with threats to send the temperature up near the triple digits (not that such things mattered to Emily-zombie and her nightmarish army). Emily-zombie came to a stop at the broken remnants of what had once been a large fence and gate structure.
Bodies still littered the ground, although many had either been picked clean or gotten up and wandered away. The charred husks of a few buildings could be seen as well as the skeletal remnants of gigantic tent structures.
A feeling of what could be considered peace and calm settled over Emily-zombie. She wandered through the ruins until she came to a stop in front of a Quonset hut structure that was all but caved in from a combination of damage inflicted by both man and weather.
Emily-zombie sat down in the dirt. For a few minutes, the others of her group stood around her and waited. When it was clear that Emily-zombie was not going to move, some wandered away. A few became their own small group and made their way down the almost invisible logging road that led away to the south.
The rest seemed content to remain. One of them walked past a sign that finally toppled. None of them could read the sign. None of them cared what it said:
“Welcome to Serenity Base!”
***
Vix leaned back and let the boat drift. Rowing had been a lot more difficult than she could have guessed. There had been a few sailboats, but since she knew absolutely nothing about how to get the sails to work, that was not a choice. There had been a few motorboats, but even when she had managed to find the peg board with the keys, it had been useless. None had turned over when she had tried to start them.
She had found a few kayaks and a canoe, but she had not felt safe with any of those possibilities. They just seemed too skinny, and Vix did not trust skinny.
At last, she spied a ragged looking metal rowboat. The set of plastic oars seemed sturdy enough for her and she hauled the craft down to the water. After hiding her bicycle just in case she needed to return for it when this turned into a fiasco, Vix set her backpack in the forward end, climbed in and sat down on the bench seat, and pushed off.
It had not been too difficult at first, but after a while, her shoulders began to ache and her arms felt like cooked noodles. A few times, she had stopped paddling and considered just turning around, but apparently more than a few of the undead had been stirred by her actions at the little dock. She had seen them gathering as she had begun to paddle out into the channel.
So Vix spent her day alternating between paddling and then losing ground when she took breaks. It would figure that she had to go up the river. Nothing ever came easy.
Passing towns, factories, and open countryside, the thought continued to surface that maybe she could just go back to that cottage. She would probably have no difficulty being allowed in now that Gemma was gone. But no, she had come this far and she would do this as a tribute of sorts to Harold and Gemma.
After all, Vix thought during one point when she had ceased rowing and stripped out of some of her protective gear to ease the feeling of overheating that had grown worse by the minute, an island had been a solid idea. If there were no bridges, then it was simply a matter of mathematics. The number of possible zombies would be finite. It might take a while, but she would be able to rid herself of them in time.
It was with the sun well at her back when the open expanse of the ocean came into view. She knew that she wanted to hug the shore and make the turn south. It was actually becoming a tougher go of things by now. Whether it was from exhaustion or perhaps the current, it was almost reaching a point where Vix was ready to simply give up.
There was a moment where the small boat appeared to fight her every move, and Vix eventually slumped over in defeat, but then a new current seemed to sweep her up and carry her in the general direction she sought. She swirled and turned a few circles, watching as the shores on either side passed by. She had switched over to the River Medway and was now easing past the northwestern tip of the Isle of Sheppey.
She could make out what had to be the outskirts of Queenborough in the fading light of dusk. She was not close enough to tell with the naked eye whether or not this would be a good place to land. She decided to let the boat continue on. She spied some sort of channel that led down along the western edge of the island and made for it with all of the remaining strength that she possessed. By the time she was in that narrow channel, she could at least get a somewhat better look at the beaches of the island; such as it was at least.
The channel was shaped like a fishhook and she continued along as it almost seemed to double back on itself. As the last of the light faded from the sky, she had just made the turn back south and decided that she would have to beach herself on the narrow strip that jutted from this particular section of what was actually a fairly large island.
The sound of the boat grinding on the bottom was her indication that she would now have to make a choice: sleep in the boat, or find a place ashore. She simply did not think she would ever feel sa
fe or comfortable trying to sleep on the rowboat and made the choice to get out. She regretted it almost instantly as the cold water filled her boots.
She made her way towards a dark shape and was thrilled to discover an abandoned truck. She had to search around on her hands and knees, but eventually she was able to gather enough dead scrub brush and even a few pieces of a wooden pallet in which she could build a small fire.
Using the open bed of the truck, Vix settled in once the blaze was giving off some fair heat. She quickly stripped from her damp clothing and soaking wet socks, laying them close to the fire in order to dry.
Putting on her only other set of clothes—they had opted to keep no more than one spare set as they travelled in order to lessen the load—Vix settled in and opened her last can of food.. No matter what, she would need to forage tomorrow. Shaking her canteens, she was comforted in the fact that she still had one full and one partial. The other three had been used up in short order during the rowing expedition.
With the fire down to just embers, Vix climbed into the cab of the truck and closed the door. Stretching out on the long seat, she allowed herself to drift off to what she expected would be a fitful sleep. Between being alone, and the terrible ending that had befallen Harold and Gemma, she fully anticipated an evening of nightmares.
Vix woke feeling more refreshed than she had in a while. The nightmares had remained at bay. Instead, she had dreamed of the time before. She dreamed of her dear Ivor. She dreamed of trivia night in the pub. She dreamed of normal. It had been almost a cold slap when she awoke to the world of the dead. Somehow, those pleasant dreams had almost seemed crueler than had she been overwhelmed by nightmares.
Sitting up, Vix screamed. A face was staring in at her. It took a few heartbeats for her to realize that it was not one of the undead. This face was of a living man. He appeared to be in his early fifties, his graying hair overtaking what looked to have once been a full and curly mop of red. He had ruddy skin and eyes that sparkled with an uncommon happiness. Those eyes had gone wide when she had screamed, and he actually stumbled back a few steps. However, he seemed to quickly recover…smile and all.